My Own Remorse
by Yanagi Uxinta
Summary: On a mission gone wrong, stranded behind enemy lines, Rashel and Quinn face one of the hardest decisions in the middle of the Apocalypse.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all! Sorry this isn't the Hannah/Thierry follow-up to _Time Is All We Have_ , but this is a much older idea that I've been working on for a while. It's a grim one I'm afraid, but one I hope digs into the emotion of the characters.

 *****TRIGGER WARNING***** : For violence, injury, blood etc.

On another note, (of the shameless plug type) I've recently joined a brand-new Night World RP site called _Changeling_. It's set between _Witchlight_ and _Strange Fate_ , and has canon and OC characters. I've been lucky enough to get to play Rashel, but there's loads of canons still open. If anyone's interested, here's the link: changeling (d.o.t.) b1 (d.o.t.) jcink (d.o.t.) c o m We're looking for new members, and would be delighted to see you!

* * *

It wasn't anything unusual. Every mission was a dangerous one these days, with cities falling like flies in a hot room and dragons freely roaming the land. They'd both accepted months ago that one day, they might not come back.

Thing is, they'd always pictured it as overwhelming odds. As neither of them escaping. As a last stand.

Not as Rashel slowly bleeding out while Quinn carried her to a nearby cave, whipped by rain and gale force winds. The small dip in the cliff face gave them some shelter from the elements. They'd finished off their opponents, barely. Rashel had managed to gut the one who'd shot her – he'd made the mistake of only shooting twice and within her reach. Quinn had taken down the other two – the only ones left alive out of the initial group of six.

Quinn eased to his knees, trying not to jar her as he lay her down on the rocky floor. She grimaced, body stiff with pain despite his gentleness, hands clamped to her middle.

'Let me see,' he said, already assessing, grateful his voice was steady enough though he felt like he was trembling inside. She lifted her shaking, red-stained hands long enough for him to see the two bullet holes swamped with blood before pressing down again, breathing quickly through her nose.

Quinn's heart dropped. Gut shots were painful. More than that, there was a high chance of hitting one or more organs. With multiple shots, the chances were even higher. Many of those organs just couldn't stand the trauma of bullet wounds.

'Keep the pressure on,' he said, grabbing for the witch-enhanced radio at his belt. Rashel needed treatment – _surgery_ – right now.

She managed to give him a flat look from between narrowed eyes. 'Really? Thought I'd just let go,' she muttered hoarsely. Alarm raced through him again when he realised that was the loudest she could speak.

 _Focus_. He settled for shooting her a warning look while he opened the radio channel, praying there would be a connection despite the raging storm. This, more than ever, was when they needed some magic working. 'Anyone there? Harmony, come in.' Static. Shit. Keep trying. 'Harmony, come in.'

'Quinn.' God, her voice was thick. Like she couldn't get a clear breath. 'Try by the cave exit.'

There was a large, irrational part of him that wanted to say 'no', that wanted to stay right beside her. The part of him that was still thinking clearly knew she was right – the signal might be better there.

'I'll be two minutes,' he promised, without knowing if it was for his own peace of mind or hers, then rose smoothly and headed the metre or two to the exit.

'Harmony, anyone there?' The static didn't seem as loud or dense here, but the pounding rain and wind outside made it just as difficult to hear. 'Harmony, come in-'

'Roger, Quinn. Go ahead.'

Quinn shut his eyes tight, relief rushing to his head and making the shaking worse. He didn't recognise the voice beyond it being female, and the signal wasn't brilliant, but it didn't matter. They could hear him.

'We need an evac team immediately. Rashel's been shot and needs treatment. We're approximately eight zero, eighty miles south-west of Harmony's borders. Over.' He waited, pacing in the small mouth of the cave, eyes narrowed against the rain lashing in at him.

'Copy, Quinn.' The operator sounded worried. He tried not to let the panic claw at him again. 'We're sending an off-road field ambulance to you. ETA is three hours, over.'

The cold he thought he'd banished when he found Rashel surged back, freezing him in place as he stared out at the rain without seeing it. 'Three hours? That's too long, she needs help _now_. Recall one of the helicopters, that would be faster.' He didn't bother with 'over'. There was a long pause while she waited to make sure he had finished transmitting.

'Quinn, we have helicopters here. They can't fly, the weather is too bad. The ambulance is the fastest way to reach you with the roads destroyed and dodging border patrols, over.'

He wanted to lash out. He wanted to terrify this faceless radio operator into giving him what he wanted, regardless of consequences, wanted to embrace the old Quinn to get the job done.

He couldn't. It wouldn't make any difference. The helicopter would just crash, and then Circle Daybreak would be down by more than just two operatives.

'Copy.' It's little more than a whisper.

'Say again.'

'Copy.' Louder this time, angry. 'Out.' He released the button and clipped the radio back onto his belt, swinging around and striding back to Rashel, dropping to his knees beside her.

He needs to keep her alive for three hours.

'How long?' She asked on a haggard breath. She looked on the verge of a faint, body limp except for the clamp of her hands over her wounds, her eyes staring at the ceiling. He could tell she was trying to focus, but to him it looked too much like the vacant gaze of a fresh corpse. He looked away quickly, preferring to look at her bloody hands than those eyes.

He wanted to tell her 'not long'. He wanted to reassure her. But he couldn't lie to her like that. Not now. 'Three hours. They can't fly in this weather.'

She just nodded, the barest tilt of her head. 'Thought so.' She gave a weak smile, bloodless lips skinning back from pale gums. Her voice rasped. 'Good job it's a gut shot, I suppose. I'll last longer.'

Quinn tried to suppress his flinch at that. Gut shots killed slowly, but they were agonising. _Focus. She is._ Funny, he could feel how clear her thoughts were compared to the chaos of his own, yet she was the one bleeding out. _So get your act together._

Need to stem the bleeding. For the first time in centuries, Quinn cursed the fact he was a vampire. That the only usable item he was wearing was his shirt. In this weather, a human would have had a sweater, would have had layers to protect against the cold. Not him. Just his shirt and trousers. The shirt would have to do. At least it was linen – it should absorb a lot of the blood.

'Am I getting a show now? Lucky me,' Rashel murmured, attempting a grin.

Quinn glowered at her. 'Your sense of humour and timing are _terrible_.' It helped though. Oddly, her daft joke helped calm him down, let him focus as he folded the shirt into a dense square and pressed it tight against her stomach. Rashel hissed, grimacing, but waved away his apologies as she slipped her hands out of the way and reapplied them on top of his shirt, helping keep the pressure on.

'Really could have done with my old scarf right now,' she whispered as she slowly relaxed into the new pressure, head easing back to rest on the ground. 'Could have used it to tie this, or as another bandage.'

'I would have picked the emergency room in Harmony over your old scarf, but right now I'd take anything,' he replied, working to keep his tone light.

She gave a single huff of laughter, merely a harsh breath, and tensed. She gritted her teeth on a groan. 'Oh, God. No laughing.'

'Sorry,' he said softly, looking back down at their tangled hands and silently cursing. Of course, there is no such thing as 'silent' with a soulmate.

Rashel's fingers tightened on his. 'Hey,' she whispered, then switched to nonverbal communication. _This isn't your fault, OK?_

He glanced at her, then away again. _I should have been more aware of what was going on. If I'd known he had a gun sooner-_

 _John, we_ both _missed it. They don't usually use guns. The only reason we do is because of the damned dragons. It. Isn't. Your. Fault._

 _I'm supposed to keep you safe!_ He didn't mean for it to rip out of him like that, but it did. Angry, and scared, and frustrated. Now he'd started, he may as well finish. He made himself quieter, but no less fervent. _Rashel, you're only half shifter. You're half human. I'm a vampire, I should have been_ able _to keep you safe. What good is being superhuman when you can't save the people you love?_

He saw the realisation dawn in her eyes, felt the understanding settle into place in her mind. He could sense the echoes in her mind – echoes of a scream she'd never heard but one that revisited him every night, even now. Yet most nights, it wasn't Dove screaming anymore.

He'd never heard Rashel scream. His nightmares filled in the blanks for him.

Her fingers squeezed his, and her eyes sharpened. Dragging some focus, some life back. _Well, I'm not dead yet, and I'm not_ going _to die either. I'm not letting some half-wit Night World leech kill me slowly because he can't freaking aim._

That – that wasn't worth thinking of. If the vampire had had enough time to aim properly, to lift his gun higher, to hit her in the chest or head-

Stop.

Too late.

 _Did you_ have _to imagine my brains all over the ground?_ Her mental voice was stronger, more plaintive than her real one. She didn't need breath to help express herself with it.

 _Sorry._ He shifted his hands slightly, shoulders slowly stiffening from the constant pressure. Wetness squelched between his fingers and he looked down. Blood was seeping up through to the top layer of his shirt, still warm against his skin.

 _God, too fast, she's losing too much too quickly-_

So _think_.

They needed something to slow the bleeding further, because pressure and their makeshift bandage wasn't enough.

More than that, he knew. This much blood, it must have nicked a large blood vessel or an organ. Maybe the liver. But only surgery could fix something like that, and even if he'd had tools here, he was no surgeon-

'Quinn.' It was only when her real voice broke through to him that he realised she'd been saying his name silently for a few seconds already.

Her gaze was steady when he turned to meet it, in contrast to his own too-wide eyes. _We need to do something to slow the bleeding. To stop it if possible. We need something to start_ healing _the internal injuries. Fast._

He blamed the shock and terror for it not occurring to him first. He was the vampire, really, he should have thought of it.

 _You're sure?_

She grimaced. _It's either that or bleed out in this cave. Willpower and sheer stubbornness can only get me so far. One exchange might be enough; we might not need to go any further. We just need enough time for the medical team to get here._

He nodded, gently probing her uncertainty, her fear, her reluctance... and finding them all inferior to her resolve.

 _Alright. You first, you don't have the blood to spare right now._

 _Joy._ She didn't sound too joyful as Quinn took his left hand from their pile, wiped his wrist and hand as clean as he could on his trouser leg for her sake more than his, then bit his own wrist open.

It was a little awkward, trying to position themselves comfortably and so that Rashel wouldn't choke, but eventually she took a deep breath and let him lower his wrist to her mouth.

The soulmate link flared wide open and he took a breath to steady himself – and stay focused on keeping the pressure on the bandage with his free hand.

It gave him some relief though, some solace. There was no pain from her. She was right there, around him, inside him, with him. She was still here.

And on the verge of laughter.

 _Is this as bizarre for you as it is for me?_

 _More. Vampires don't let themselves be fed from as a general rule. Very few exceptions, making new vampires included. I feel like my DNA is shouting at me. It sounds vaguely like Hunter._

 _Why am I not surprised?_

They subsided slowly, relaxing into the exchange. Despite what he'd said, it wasn't as alien as Quinn expected – and it was keeping her alive. That might have something to do with it. They drifted along in each other's thoughts, trying to find and offer comfort. Quinn found himself trying to predict the next few hours.

He was giving her as much blood as possible, but he would have to take some in return to stay fully aware and in control. The last thing they needed now was for him to start acting irrationally from lack of oxygen to the brain. He couldn't risk going out hunting for animals, not this far into enemy territory. Not with Rashel this injured. He couldn't leave her alone. He could wait a while though, try and give his blood time to start working.

Or...

His shirt was thick with blood. He could still feel that against his hand, still feel the pressure he was exerting despite the soft cocoon of the soulmate bond. Under any other circumstances, no vampire would stoop to sucking blood out of clothing when there was a perfectly good living body right there, but Rashel couldn't afford to lose much more. There had to be half a pint of blood in his shirt already, more splattered on the ground outside from when he'd carried her in, and she was only going to lose more at this rate.

If their plan worked, and the vampire blood was enough to start healing her enough to stabilise her, then he'd risk it. Only enough to keep himself thinking clearly.

Something he could feel starting to slip.

He gently pulled his wrist away, lips twitching when Rashel grumbled against his wrist before realising what she was doing and hastily letting go.

He carefully flexed his wrist, breathing deeply, trying to assess how long he could wait. His chest felt tight already, and the light-headedness hadn't faded with the soulmate connection. His throat was dry, and his head ached.

'Your turn.' Whether it was having something wet her throat, or the blood was working already, Rashel sounded a little stronger, her voice smoother than before. There was a small note of trepidation in her voice, but not as strong as her fear from earlier.

Quinn shook his head, placing his hand back over her wounds and lifting the other one instead. Her blood gleamed black in the dim light. 'Not just yet. Give it some time to work first. Besides, there's plenty here.' If she could have a black sense of humour about this, so could he.

Her nose wrinkled. 'Efficient, I guess.'

'You're hardly using it, are you?' He countered, starting to lick his fingers and hand clean. It was a small step above his shirt. He didn't want to resort to that unless he had to.

She was quiet for a moment. 'How long has it been?'

He paused, any humour fading away. He checked the small brick masquerading as a watch on his wrist. The things were clunky and ugly as anything, but they were damn near indestructible. 'Half an hour.'

She let out a long breath, rough with pain. At least she could take a deep breath now. 'Still two and a half to go.'

 _God, I hope this works._

He wasn't sure which of them thought it first.

They both fell quiet, just waiting. Waiting for a sign the transfer was working, waiting for the weather to miraculously improve and allow flight. Just waiting.

Quinn had to resist the urge to keep checking his watch, now that he'd looked at it once. He focused on keeping his own breathing controlled, measuring out the breaths. It was a little easier, but he hadn't had anywhere near enough blood.

He could wait a little longer though. Instead he checked Rashel's wounds again. Was the bleeding a little slower? Maybe. It was hard to tell. 'How are you feeling?'

She closed her eyes briefly, breathing slowly. 'Not as dizzy as I was. Got pins and needles in my fingers though.'

That could be down to blood loss. It could also be due to the pressure he was putting on them. He carefully shifted their hands so that his were beneath hers. She was barely exerting any pressure anymore anyway. Her hands were cold, her skin paler than normal. Not vampire pale, but sickly pale. The rain pounding outside made it difficult to hear, but her heartbeat was far too fast. Her body trying to compensate for the blood running out of her.

'Quinn?'

Her eyes were still closed, her breathing as steady as she could make it. 'What?'

'If I bleed out too fast, if they don't get here in time...' She swallowed, not out of fear of that, but of what she was about to say. 'We've still got the option of changing me, haven't we?' Her voice was so small, so scared even though she tried for calm. It didn't sound like her at all.

Quinn bowed his head, watching her, watching the pulse in her throat jump. After that crazed night on the enclave, they'd never broached the subject again. Rashel was mortal, and she'd stay that way. He wouldn't have it any other way himself.

He'd never considered this scenario though.

'Yes. Of course.' Never mind that she was nearly two years older, she was getting dangerously close to her twenties when the change just wouldn't work. If they hadn't been living in the Time Bubble, she _would_ be too old.

No. He'd been eighteen when he was changed, Thierry nineteen. And Harmony _worked_ – Rashel was barely six months older than when they'd moved in. It was still possible.

Rashel shook her head slightly, the barest movement against the ground. 'Do we? Can shape shifters be turned?'

Quinn froze.

It had never happened, not to his knowledge. The Night People didn't prey on each other as a general rule, and relations between vampires and shapeshifters had been rocky for a long time. Even a mercy change – if it could even be called that – had never been documented. Witches could become vampires – Poppy and, to an extent, Maya herself were proof. But shifters? They weren't humans with powers, they were animals who could look human. Vampire blood as a temporary measure would work the same on them as on a human, but for a full change? It might be incompatible.

He was abruptly deeply thankful that he'd never gotten very far in his attempt to change Rashel. He might have killed her without realising it, without ever knowing why she hadn't survived.

Then again, they never thought vampires and humans could have children, yet Jez existed. A lot of seemingly impossible things had been happening in the past twenty years or so. Maybe this was one of them.

'I don't know. I don't think anyone's ever tried. But you're half-human. Might be enough to pull you through anyway.' He'd cling to that. And with her being half-human, Rashel might be more like what humans thought shape shifters were like. A human who could turn into an animal when she wanted. She still identified as more human than shifter anyway. Maybe it would be enough for a change to be feasible.

She nodded just as faintly. 'Jus' a last resort,' she whispered. He couldn't tell if she was slurring or just too quiet for clear diction.

'I know. Hopefully my blood will buy you enough time for the ambulance to get here.' He paused, examining the shirt beneath his hands. He doubted it was absorbing anything anymore, but it might be creating some sort of seal over her wounds. He kept it in place. 'If we did have to though... would you hate it?'

Her eyes open to exhausted slits, watching him for a moment. 'Not like I would've before. I've seen now that you can live as a vampire and not be a monster. I don't _want_ to, but if that's the only option, then... I think I could cope. It wouldn't be the end of my world anymore. I wouldn't be reaching for my knife when I woke up, anyway,' she said with a weak smile to hide how much effort it took to talk now. Not quite slurring, but having to focus to pronounce words clearly, like someone tipsy but not drunk.

He nodded, swallowing, wrapping himself in the reassurance. It helped muffle the panicked little part of him that was still trembling and unable to process what was going on. It helped the rest of him to know that he wouldn't be turning her into something she despised to save her life. That he wouldn't be doing it to selfishly keep her alive, for him and not for her.

 _I suggested it, remember? I wouldn't if I knew I couldn't bear it._

He nodded, chagrined. It was hard to feel guilty when your soulmate had a direct line into your feelings and told you not to.

Well. Guilty about that, anyway. A hypothetical. This, the reality of the blood on his hands – that would take more than a few words to convince him.

He felt her resigned pang, and her decision not to pursue it for now. Arguing would only waste her strength and energy.

He glanced down at his watch again, unable to help himself. It had only been fifteen minutes since the last time he'd looked. Damn it.

 _Quinn_.

He looked up at her again. She tilted her head back and to the side slightly. _Your turn._

He shook his head. 'I'm fine.'

He felt a spike of anger from her. Still had some fight left in her then. _Fine my ass. I can feel you need it._

'And you need it more,' he said fervently, leaning in slightly over their clasped hands. 'I'm not desperate yet, I can still breathe, I can still _think_. I can hold off a while longer.'

 _And how long has it been?_

He glowered at her even as he thought back to the last time he'd fed. 'This morning. About five in the morning. I can go a day if need be.'

 _A normal day, when you're not fighting and burning through your human red blood cells faster, and giving me a massive transfusion. And..._ It was her turn to trail off, confused. _What time is it now, anyway?_

He almost didn't want to tell her, but the severity of the situation won out over his need to win the argument. 'About half nine.' Closer to twenty five to ten, but he wasn't going to bicker over minutes.

 _So you've gone over sixteen hours without blood, after giving me a lot, and expending more of it during the fight anyway. Quinn, you can't go much longer without some._

He prodded the sodden shirt with his fingers. 'I've got this,' he said, trying and failing to keep the distaste out of his voice.

 _And that's like licking a puddle off the floor when you're dying of thirst. It's not enough._

He ground his teeth. Damn her stubborn-mindedness. Damn her for being right.

'I can manage another half-hour. Give my blood as much time as possible to work. Please, Rashel,' he added when she looked mutinous.

She slowly subsided – more because she knew she couldn't physically force him to feed and he wouldn't budge on the matter than because she conceded to his point. _Half an hour, Quinn. Promise me._

 _I swear. I won't put you at risk by going any longer than that._ That was the truth of it. If he didn't feed soon, he'd be driven to biting her anyway – and he wouldn't have the control to pull away before he killed her. Better to do it before he was too far gone.

But she was still bleeding. Still dying. It felt _wrong_ to take it from her.

He didn't have a choice. His muscles were starting to ache – it was only a matter of time before the cramps started. He didn't want to move from kneeling beside her in case the movement started them, despite how uncomfortable it was becoming.

Deal with it.

He gently lifted the shirt, studying the wounds. The bleeding was definitely slower now, a sluggish stream instead of the torrent from earlier. His blood must be starting to work. He listened for her heartbeat, found it starting to slow a little. _Please, let her be stabilising_.

Of course, it wouldn't be for long. Taking more blood would put more strain on her body again, even if he only took the smallest amount possible to get him through the next couple of hours.

In a way, he hoped an enemy patrol would find them. At least then he'd have an alternative, and he could do with something to work his anger out on. He couldn't fight blood loss.

Her fingers tightened on his, slipping slightly on blood. _Don't worry. If there's anything I can do about it, I'll live._ It was a hollow reassurance, since all she could do was wait and hope, but she was trying. _Besides, I've got a lot more to live for than the last time I thought I was going to die. I still want to see what colour Keller turns when I ask her when I'm going to be an auntie._

That drew a choked laugh from him; he didn't have the breath for more. Rashel had first brought it up a couple of weeks ago after they had accidentally walked in on Keller and Galen. They had beat a hasty retreat to their own room, Rashel beet red and Quinn trying not to laugh at her vicarious embarrassment. It had only been when they were in the privacy of their own room that Rashel had shook herself and wondered aloud if Keller's shriek would be even louder when she asked if she'd be an auntie any time soon. Rashel hadn't had chance to make the joke yet.

Of course, it wasn't just a joke. They might well be Aunt Rashel and Uncle Quinn in a few years, if they all survived long enough. If the world didn't end.

It was a very strange thought, if a happy one. Something that hadn't even been a possibility for him for centuries. Technically he had been a sort of honorary uncle to Garnet's children, but with the various fights he'd had with the Redferns, it had never felt like it. He'd barely seen them growing up.

So to be an uncle – a real uncle, and have a family... that was something worth living for. He could feel Rashel's agreement, could trace the similar path her thoughts had taken. An only child, no family, a career vampire hunter – children and family had never been in the picture for her. Then Circle Daybreak happened.

 _And I'm glad. I wouldn't change anything, even with the Apocalypse. I'll happily take that as a consequence._ Her thoughts were vague, hazy. He looked up sharply, saw her eyes were shut, her body relaxing. He gently shook her hands, then squeezed them tight when she didn't rouse, panic spiking inside him. _What if she wasn't stabilising, what if her body is failing-_

'Rashel.'That brought her round, blinking blearily. She took a deep breath, assessing, then released it with a wince.

 _Sorry._

The panic deflated inside him, giving way to relief. 'It's alright. I know you're tired, but try and stay awake for me.'

She nodded, swallowing and blinking hard, trying to focus. 'What time is it?' Speaking aloud kept her awake.

He glanced at his watch. 'Still another ten minutes left.'

She watched him carefully. 'You don't sound too good.'

No wonder. His throat was raw, his usually soft voice whispery from the dryness, and he was struggling not to pant for breath. 'I can wait ten minutes.'

She gave him a flat glare. 'You'd say that if you were a gasp away from suffocating.'

He smiled, one of those manic smiles from his time in the Crypt. 'Well, I've survived my next breath, so I'm not that bad just yet.'

She grunted, unimpressed. 'Don't be a smartass. What difference would ten minutes make?'

He could have said something sarcastic. Could have mentioned that ten minutes of CPR could be the difference between life and death before a defibrillator arrived. But he caught her eyes and felt the silent warning in her mind and decided against it. 'Fine. But only a little.'

Now that he'd agreed to it, he could barely focus on anything else. It was an effort to figure out how best to position himself so that he could still keep the pressure on her wounds, without lifting her up and potentially making the bleeding worse again. He had to resist the urge to just yank her head back and bite deep. The stray thought was enough for his teeth to extend, even as revulsion rose in him at the thought of _attacking_ her.

He tried to move slowly, to avoid alarming her. He'd only ever bitten her once, that time on the island, and that had hardly been a pleasant experience for her. She wasn't tense though; she just took a deep breath to steady herself and tipped her head back. He freed one hand to position her head properly, realised too late that it was still covered in blood. She caught his frustrated thought before he could finish it, soothed it. _It's fine; it doesn't matter._ It didn't stop him from apologising, angry with himself for his lack of forethought, angry that he couldn't think clearly enough, angry that he had to take her blood to make himself function properly.

He kissed her neck, a soft warning, then finally let himself bite.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey all, here's chapter two. A little shorter, but I wrote this story as a single piece. I just couldn't post it as a one-shot because it would be a 16k+ monster. So I hope these chapter breaks feel natural and make sense.

Enjoy!

* * *

It was a good thing he'd waited, in a way. Quinn was so desperate for it; his teeth were at full extension and fine as needles. Barely a prick of pain for her, before heat and sweetness flooded his mouth and washed everything else away.

God, such sweet relief. This was what he needed; what he craved. Even with the soulmate connection blown wide open, he could barely consider anything else. There was only room in his mind for three things: feeding, keeping pressure on her wounds, and not hurting her. Everything else faded to the back of his mind as he gulped and dragged down deep, shuddering breaths between swallows, revelling in his lungs responding fully again.

 _I knew you should have fed earlier._ Rashel, mental voice clear as a bell, and distinctly disgruntled. No fear, though. That was good.

 _I know. I'm sorry._ It was a little reminder to slow down, to remember their situation. With his brain clearing at a rapid pace, he started assessing – how soon could he stop? God, he didn't _want_ to, but he had to.

A little longer. It wasn't the selfish little part of him speaking up, the part of him that wanted to gorge himself. It was the practical part of him giving an honest assessment. If he wanted to wait out the next couple of hours, he needed more. Could she afford it, was the next question.

Just. They might just get away with it. He just had to hope there would be a willing donor or a few extra blood bags on the ambulance for the ride back. That or a reinforced gurney to strap him to, to stop him trying to bite the paramedics.

Rashel's mind bubbled with amusement. No secrets with a fully-established soulmate link. _Let's hope for blood bags, shall we?_

He gave a mental hum in agreement, lips twitching against her throat. The little movement was enough to remind him of their physical bodies. _That's enough_. It didn't feel like it, but his muscles had stopped screaming at him and his mind had lost the cloudy fog he hadn't even realised had settled over it until it was gone.

Reluctantly he pulled away, careful to draw his teeth out as painlessly as possible. He kissed her again softly once his teeth had retracted before slowly sitting up again, enjoying the returned ease of movement. He licked his lips clean, noticed the bloody marks his hand had left on her jaw and grimaced. He looked around for something to clean them with, and came up empty. Rashel lifted her hands to look at her sleeves, found the hems as wet as his shirt. She tried wiping her face with her arm, only smeared the blood further, and lay back again with a resigned sigh. 'Doesn't matter. I look like hell anyway; what's a bit more blood?'

'I'm sure the paramedics won't mind you not being red-carpet worthy for them,' Quinn assured her, his grasp of humour returning with his breath.

'Speaking of which, how long now?'

It was nearly ten. 'It's been about an hour and ten minutes, give or take. Nearly two hours to go.'

Rashel let out a slow breath. 'This is going to be a long two hours. And this is from someone who stayed chained to a bed for two days straight with nothing to do.'

Quinn started, then rolled his eyes as if exasperated with himself. 'Of course you woke up early. Why am I not surprised?'

Rashel snorted. 'I woke up when you were carrying me to the office. You were a shitty prison officer by the way, didn't even check me for weapons. You missed my knife by the length of my shin.'

Quinn gave her a mock glare. 'Well, I was rather distracted by some mystery vampire hunter who had me convinced I was going insane.'

Rashel summoned up enough energy to smile at him. Her gums were still too pale. 'I'm flattered.'

'Of course you are. You're the one who thinks the ideal Valentine's Day present is a wooden fighting stick.'

'That's what you get for introducing me to Jez and Morgead.'

Quinn grumbled something about West Coast hooligans. Rashel patted his hand comfortingly.

'Careful Quinn, you're showing your age.'

He would have elbowed her if she wasn't injured. 'For three hundred and seventy eight, I think I'm doing pretty well.'

Rashel very clearly eyed his bare torso, then nodded in agreement. 'No arguments here.'

Quinn glared at her. 'Your timing is _awful_.'

She chuckled, her stomach jumping under his hands, then stiffened. A noise somewhere between a hiss and a groan dragged out of her, and the light hearted mood broke completely. He found himself leaning over her, murmuring reassuring nonsense, one hand clasping hers as she rode out the pain, the other pressing against her wounds and hoping she hadn't just damaged herself further.

As the tension slowly seeped out of her and she relaxed by degrees back to the floor, she growled through gritted teeth. 'I'm an idiot.'

'I'm sorry.' He wiped one hand on his trousers, then brushed her hair back. 'I shouldn't have made you laugh.'

She shook her head, jaw still tense. 'Made myself laugh. Stupid,' she grunted through her teeth.

'Stop beating yourself up. You're starting to sound like Keller.'

Rashel grunted wordlessly, letting her head rock back to the floor with a soft thump, her breath slowly sighing out of her.

 _Two hours_ , she thought. _Quinn, I don't know-_

'You're going to be fine,' he said firmly, willing it to be so. 'Just lie still and don't laugh anymore. We'll get you through this.'

She didn't answer for a long time.

 _Alright._

She didn't sound like she believed him, but he didn't want to argue when she was so weak already. He wished he had a more reliable indicator than rate of blood loss that his blood was doing something – anything. It would take another exchange for that – for her features to start to change. And then she'd be dangerously close to becoming a vampire.

If they made it through this – _when_ they made it through, he was going to insist on them always bringing an emergency first aid kit with them from now on. If he had to clip it to his belt like some strange accessory, he would. They should have had one in the first place, but because of the nature of the mission they'd been travelling as light and as fast as possible. They thought they'd be in and out. And they hadn't considered survival as a likely option had they encountered resistance. What's the point in a first aid kit when your only outcomes are avoidance and survival or death?

Never again.

He looked up as Rashel's hand moved, patting the side of her hip, blindly reaching for her canteen. He covered her hand with one of his for a moment, unclipping it from her belt for her. She opened her eyes to give him a weary smile, then focused on opening the bottle. Before she could get it open though, she groaned in exasperation, lifting one hand away and rubbing her fingers together. They slipped, slick with blood. The neck of the canteen was coated with it.

Quinn made to take it, hesitated at the state of his own hands and lack of something to clean it on. Rashel waved him away, grabbing a handful of her top over her chest, above the blood stain. She awkwardly cleaned off the bottle neck with the stretched fabric, grimacing in relief when Quinn helped support her head so she could drink without using her abdominal muscles.

Quinn listened to the water sloshing in the hard plastic. At least half full from the last refill. That should be enough to last until help arrived.

Rashel set the canteen aside rather than bother with the hassle of strapping it back to her belt. Quinn helped her slowly settle back on the ground before reapplying pressure to her wounds. He honestly had no idea how much that was helping now, if at all, but he needed something to do with his hands and if it stood even the smallest chance of helping, he'd do it.

Rashel rested her hands on top of his – no pressure, just for somewhere to put them and for comfort. She closed her eyes, exhausted. _When we've won the war, I'm retiring,_ she thought, to make him smile.

He did for her, trying to hide how the haziness of the words worried him. Earlier she would have called him out on it, but now she just subsided into silence again – as if even that stray thought had drained her.

Part of him wanted to keep her talking, but he resisted. He could cope without the constant reassurance she was conscious. Let her conserve her strength. Instead he turned to analysis again – anything he could tell the medics when they arrived could help treat her faster. It helped pass the time. The clarity her blood gave him made it easier to figure out some things. He didn't think the bullets had hit her digestive system at least – Quinn had been on his fair share of battlefields through the centuries, and he couldn't detect the tell-tale stench of ruptured viscera. Something so simple to check, yet the lack of oxygen had clouded his mind that much it simply hadn't occurred to him. They still could have hit something like the liver, and he wouldn't be able to tell –

Actually, would he?

He patted her hands, then gently moved them aside, gingerly lifting her shirt away from her stomach. It was slick with blood, and he couldn't help but glance at the bullet holes – fairly high up, one just below her ribs on the right hand side, the other a few inches lower and to the left. They weren't what he was looking for, though. Her skin – far from the pale expanse he was used to – was turning a deep purple-black, like a bruise across her whole torso.

Quinn took a deep breath to steady himself. She did have internal bleeding then – a gentle press of his fingers confirmed it; there was very little give there, the skin taut with the pressure of blood building in her abdominal cavity.

It was bad, but shouldn't she have gone downhill faster than this? Unless his blood had started working fast enough to keep her stable. That was a possibility. It was the only reason he could think of for her to still be alive when it looked and felt like there was thick tar beneath her skin.

He ground his teeth as he pulled her shirt down again, frustrated that all he had to go on were vampire senses and guesswork. As soon as they got back to Harmony – and they _would_ get back, he _had_ to get her back – he was going to grab one of the medics and take an emergency first aid course. Stupid that he'd never done it yet, in all the time modern medicine had been around – but until recently, he'd never needed to. Vampires healed from almost anything. Certainly a little thing like blood loss or bullet wounds wouldn't kill them. And humans had just been prey. All he'd needed to know about their blood loss was how to inflict it.

Still, his lack of knowledge wasn't going to stop him trying. He reached out with his mind, trying to get a better grasp on her physical state now he was thinking clearly. What he found wasn't too surprising – her whole body felt off; non-essential functions shutting down while her core went into overdrive to keep her alive. The pain radiated out from her centre, flaring each time she took even a shallow breath.

And her breathing was getting slower. Now he listened, so was her heartbeat. Heavy, pounding, laboured – but slowing down.

'Rashel?'

Her eyes were closed, face tight with pain and exhaustion. She didn't respond.

 _She's tired, she's just tired-_

'Rashel.' Firmer this time, louder. He squeezed her arm, shook it slightly. Nothing. _Rashel!_

She barely stirred, her mind sweeping hazily against his. He could feel no coherency in her mind – almost like she was on the verge of a deep sleep. This wasn't like before, just simple exhaustion. She was losing consciousness.

 _Shit. Shit._

He should have kept her talking; he shouldn't have let her close her eyes-

Focus. Think. Help her. Regret it later.

He'd hoped they could drag this out longer, but he had no choice now. He let go of her makeshift bandage and hoped it stayed in place as he moved to her head. He bit his wrist open again and cradled her head, tipping it forward so the blood would flow to her stomach, not her lungs. He tried to push down the panic at how loose her neck was, how she'd slumped into complete deadweight.

The soulmate bond swept him up, but there was no comfort this time. Even here she was limp, unresponsive. All those bright places in her mind seemed dim, even the thorny patches pale and wilting. She was fading.

Safe in their minds, not having to worry about jostling her physical body, he shook her hard. _Rashel!_

Her eyes flickered. He felt a small surge of life as she struggled to focus.

 _John?_

 _I'm here. Try to stay awake, OK?_

 _Mmn-_

It wasn't a word, barely a noise. She was too weak to even drag a coherent thought together.

 _Rashel? Rashel, please..._

It was no use. She was drifting out of reach – not physically, but... she was fading, somehow. She wasn't as _here_ as she had been. She was getting hard to see, no matter how hard he focused. The landscape of her mind was dimming, becoming bland, desolate.

The other soulmates often spoke about a silver cord, connecting them. Something they could often see in the soulmate link.

Quinn had never seen it. Had felt the connection with Rashel, certainly, and when they were apart and communicating via telepathy, he could feel the link stretched to a thin cord. But when they were in each other's minds? No.

He saw it now. As Rashel faded, he saw it – barely the width of a hair, but still taut. Still connecting.

He grabbed it, pulled hard as if he could drag her back by sheer force of will. _Rashel!_

Her mind fluttered.

He gave another yank, using both hands this time. Then he was just pulling, hand-over-hand, like a line of rigging. _I'm not letting you go. Not now. And I_ know _you don't give up, so pull your own damn weight and_ help me.

He wasn't soft. He wasn't romantic. He wasn't one for flowery declarations of love until death and beyond. He was a simple man with a complicated, harsh life, and recently he'd become very good at giving orders.

And above all, he and Rashel were equal. He could only pull her so far – she had to be the one to choose to fight, to keep going. To take the life line he was throwing her. For all his brave words, every nerve was alight with panic. What if she didn't? What if she couldn't? What if-

He reached forward to grab again – and the cord wasn't there.

Instead there was skin, warm and rough. Strong fingers wrapped around his hand, calluses bumping over the taut ligaments in his hand.

He saw bright green eyes – fierce, determined, _alive_ –

And a wave of pain washed him out of the link.

Quinn caught himself sagging towards the ground, blinked hard. His vision was clouded with black dots. Rashel's head was cradled against his knees, his wrist still to her mouth.

He pulled away, reeling, gasping through the cramps of oxygen starved muscles. He couldn't get enough air.

 _How long has it been?_

Nearly half an hour since the last check, once he'd found a spot of clear vision to look through. He'd been giving her blood for nearly twenty minutes.

Rashel wasn't fully conscious, but she was breathing easily, her heartbeat steady and strong. Her colour, while no pinker, was better – clearer. She didn't look ill anymore. He couldn't feel as much pain coming from her as before. She was right on the verge of turning.

And it was all he could do not to sink his teeth into her. They were fully extended, throbbing, his whole jaw aching – and his control was almost gone.

He did the only thing he could think of. He staggered to his feet, nearly collapsing as his legs partially locked up in protest. He half-shuffled, half-fell towards the cave entrance.

He slumped in the mouth of the cave, shaking and gasping and burning. Everything, every muscle, felt like boiling lead had been poured into it.

 _Just a mouthful, just a little. Then it'll be fine, then you can wait-_

He knew this voice for the predator, the tempter, the glutton. If he bit Rashel now, he'd bleed her dry.

Instead he lifted his coated, sticky hands to his mouth and swiped every drop of blood off them he could.

Rashel was right. Like licking up a puddle, it just made the craving worse. He had a taste – and there was so much more behind him.

 _No, no._

He didn't even dare go back for the shirt – not even because it may still be helping her. He knew that if he allowed himself closer, he wouldn't be able to control himself.

He huddled in the cave entrance, eyes narrowed against the rain, watching for any movement. Anything that might indicate an animal or an enemy patrol – _anything_ that could give him some relief.

He just hoped Rashel would stay stabilised until the ambulance arrived, because he didn't trust himself near her until they got here and could look after her.

 _And if she doesn't? If she crashes again?_

He didn't know. He couldn't think beyond _when the ambulance gets here_. That, now, was his goal – hang on until they arrive.

He turned his wrist to see his watch, and his arm cramped all the way up to his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Quinn rode the pain out, checking the time.

Only five minutes since he had left her side. Still an hour... an hour and...

Quinn swore, resisting the urge to rip at himself in sheer frustration even as twenty five minutes slowly emerged in the fog of his mind. He couldn't _think_ , he couldn't _move_ , he could do anything. He couldn't help her for fear of killing her, and he couldn't _leave_ her in case she went downhill without him there to help.

He tried drawing in deeper breaths, anything to help, but he was already panting. There was no relief there. There just weren't enough human red blood cells in his system to keep him going anymore.

That was the downside to vampire resiliency. It took a long time for them to suffocate.

 _Long enough for the ambulance to get here, please. Please._ He didn't even know if he was praying or trying to cajole his body into cooperating.

The spots burst and spread in his vision. Even if something had run across his path – a mouse, a rat, anything – he wouldn't see it. Giving up on sight, Quinn closed his eyes, slumping against the cave wall. He didn't know if he could even pounce, should he be able to pinpoint something by hearing alone. His muscles were completely cramped, limbs locked up, and there were no stretches he could do to provide relief.

He didn't know how long passed before he gave up. All he knew was that after a while sound became all but meaningless to him. The battering rain, the roar of the wind – it all just faded into the background. It was something to drift away on. He could feel himself blacking out, slipping into unconsciousness by degrees.

He just hoped they found Rashel and she made it through. He didn't think he'd last.

He was right on the verge of losing himself when something broke the white noise he'd surrounded himself with.

Static. Radio static. And a voice – a familiar one, but there wasn't enough energy left in him to figure out who. It took long enough to figure out what the voice was _saying_.

'Quinn? Come in, Quinn.'

He couldn't move. Couldn't even open his eyes. He had seconds.

He shouted. Not vocally, but mentally. No words, nothing, just the loudest, widest-range _yell_ he could muster. Anyone telepathic in the area should hear it – he just hoped it was enough to locate them.

 _Quinn? Quinn!_

He fell into nothing.

* * *

Rumbling. Bright lights. Swaying.

Urgent voices. Beeping. Bright lights blurring as his head fell to the side. Rashel lying beside him, someone kneeling over her, hands clasped over her chest, arms pumping.

* * *

Rattling. Light – pale, diffuse compared to the strip bulbs above him. Pre-dawn light. Rashel vanishing, her gurney wheeling away, the medic still kneeling over her. Then a strong, lithe arm under his, heaving him up.

'Come on, up you get. Nearly there.' The familiar voice. He couldn't control his body, couldn't turn to identify them. They pulled him to the ambulance ramp, and hands reached towards him from the base of it. More hands, more support. His legs gave way, and the ground bounced up as hands tightened.


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn took a deep breath, deepened it further when he realised he could. He opened his eyes on the exhale, snapping awake.

No pain. No confusion. The hospital ward ceiling above him, soft mattress below him.

Rashel.

His head jerked up, fast enough to pull his shoulders up into half-sitting up.

'Woah, slow it down there.'

Quinn's head snapped around, and found Ash Redfern lounging in a hospital chair beside his bed. He had a book in hand, shut on one of his fingers. He must have been reading when Quinn woke up. The cover tilted slightly, and Quinn caught the title – _Pride and Prejudice._ Ash gave him one of his lazy smiles – but Quinn had known him before either of them had soulmates. He knew Ash's usual blasé grin, and that wasn't it. There was tension beneath it.

'If you're going to jump up in a panic, I'd take the canular out first. Saves making a mess, that way,' the lamia said, nodding to the head of Quinn's bed.

Quinn turned to follow his gaze. He was hooked up to an IV drip – a blood bag.

'That's your third bag, by the way. You were about to go the way of King Tut when we found you. Good job you're a strong telepath – helped us track you down. The GPS in your radio wasn't specific to the metre, unfortunately.'

'Rashel,' Quinn said. Odd that his voice was so smooth now, when he expected it to rasp. 'Where's Rashel?'

Ash dropped the smile, sitting forward in his chair. Quinn sat up slowly; dread settling low in his stomach. Flashes of the journey back started to return – of Rashel, in cardiac arrest. Strapped to a gurney, a vampire on her chest breaking her ribs to keep her heart beating.

'She was in a bad state when we found you. I'm not sure which of you was worse off, to be honest. The medics started treating her straight away, got a blood transfusion going, everything. But she crashed in the ambulance, about fifteen minutes away from Harmony,' Ash said, looking down at his book rather than at Quinn. He ran his thumb over the closed pages, a soft ripple of noise. 'They started CPR in the ambulance, got the defibrillator going, but they couldn't get a steady rhythm back. They took her into surgery as soon as we arrived. She's still in.'

It felt like his heart had been cut off from the rest of his body – just sitting in his chest, pounding hard, rebounding from his ribs. He couldn't feel anything else, just that. 'How long has it been?'

Ash lifted his shoulders, sighing. 'About an hour?' He tapped his temple, tilting his head towards the door. 'I keep shouting one of the nurses to get an update. All he'll say is that they're still working on her.'

Quinn nodded, turning to stare at the foot of his bed as if in a dream. Everything was disconnected, floating – everything except his heart. 'This is my fault,' he said quietly.

'Quinn-' He could hear from Ash's tone that he was going to argue, and suddenly he could feel something else. Heat. Anger, flaring up from his gut to his head.

'It's my fault!' He shouted, head snapping around to face the lamia. 'I should have stopped it – I should have reacted faster, done _something_ to stop her getting hurt.'

'You're not omniscient, Quinn.' That stopped him short. Not the words, the tone. Ash was fighting back. Most people shut up and cowered away when Quinn lost it like that. Once upon a time, Ash would have too. Oh, he would have deflected and smiled and pretended he wasn't, but he wouldn't have been hanging around even a minute later. Now the lamia was leaning forward, eyes grey and stormy, all laziness banished. 'Hell, from what I could see of her, you're the only reason she made it to the ambulance!' He grabbed the top rail of the bed barrier, knuckles tightening as if it was Quinn's arm. 'If she makes it through this, it'll be because of you. And if she doesn't, then you'll have done everything you could to keep her alive. I saw the state you were in when we got there – anyone else would have snapped and bit her, but you didn't. You _walked away_ , and chose suffocating over biting her. I don't even know how you managed it.'

Quinn stared at him. He'd never seen Ash so fervent – so impassioned.

And he'd never felt so lost or scared. Not when he woke up as a vampire, not when his father killed Dove, not when he turned on Hunter. Never.

Love isn't kind.

'I can't lose her, Ash.' His voice was so quiet, the only reason Ash heard him was because of his enhanced hearing. He couldn't let go of her now. Slowly, his head lifted. He could feel the lost look fading from his eyes, ice replacing it. The old Quinn had been useless back there. Here, though? Here he could help. 'I _won't_ lose her.' He threw his blankets back, lowered the barriers. He paused to ease the canular out of the crook of his elbow, then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

'Where are you going?' Ash was wary again, eyes flickering amber. He looked ready to stand though, ready to move.

'To find that nurse. He'll answer me.' No threat, no posturing. Just a simple fact.

Ash watched him cautiously, then sighed, setting his book aside. 'You'll want these then.' He bent down, pulled something from underneath his seat. He tossed the bundle at Quinn. Clothes. 'Can't go wandering about like that.'

Quinn glanced down at himself. No shirt, his trousers stiff with dried blood and dirt. They hadn't bothered to change his clothes, just remove his shoes – no need with vampires; they were usually up and about in a few hours. Rashel had been the priority here anyway.

Nodding his thanks, he started to change. Ash ducked out of the bay and flicked the curtains across, in case any nurses walked in.

He felt better for the fresh clothes. A little more in control of himself and the situation – and away from the old, dry smell of Rashel's blood. He stepped out of his bay and found Ash waiting by the door. 'I'll come with. Damage control and all that.' He rolled his eyes at the look Quinn gave him. 'Plus Thierry told me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you didn't terrorise too many medics.'

Shaking his head, Quinn led the way out the door.

The infirmary was essentially a miniature hospital. Quinn followed the corridors from the inpatient wing to the theatres. He stopped upon rounding the corner and seeing a vampire nurse standing right in front of theatre number 1, arms folded, eyeing Timmy across the corridor.

The little vampire was sat with his parents on a row of chairs, idly swinging his legs and watching the nurse intently.

'He's been there pretty much since we got back. He's been pestering the poor sap more than I have,' Ash muttered in his ear.

Good kid.

Timmy looked up as Quinn approached and launched off his chair. The nurse twitched in a way that made Quinn suspect Timmy had rushed the operating theatre doors more than once. Quinn knelt and let Timmy cannon into him – his typical greeting usually reserved for Rashel. 'Quinn, he won't tell me anything!' Timmy blurted out as soon as he'd pulled back enough to see his face. He turned to point blindly behind him, vaguely in the direction of the nurse who was looking distinctly fed up.

Quinn glanced back down at Timmy. 'Don't worry. I'll ask him.' With that he stood smoothly and approached the doors. He spared a quick nod for Amelia and Rob before focusing his full attention on the nurse. The vampire had stiffened up, as if he expected Quinn to try and drag him out of the way, or rush the doors like Timmy had.

Part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted to barge in there, see her, find out exactly what was going on. But the sensible part of him pushed the idea away. If he did that, he could disrupt the surgery going on – and that could be fatal. He wouldn't risk her life for his own peace of mind. Instead, he fixed the vampire with a calm, level look. 'How is she?'

The nurse's eyes slid to look over Quinn's shoulder, at the two vampires and two humans in the hallway.

Quinn shifted just slightly, to bring the attention back to him. 'Never mind them. I'm her soulmate and husband, and I would like an update on her condition.'

The nurse grimaced, then sighed, shifting uncomfortably. 'Look, I wasn't at liberty to discuss her condition with anyone who wasn't family – not even to pass on a message to you as soon as you woke up.'

Quinn nodded sharply.

The nurse dipped his head, took a deep breath, and began. 'She was in cardiac arrest upon arrival, with the paramedic team working on her. Once we got her into surgery, we were able to stabilise her after a further two defibrillator shocks. One of the bullets was a through and through. Both hit her liver and caused fairly extensive trauma and internal bleeding as they passed through. The second one ended up in her abdominal cavity. The only reason she didn't die at the scene was because of the blood exchange you did. However, that caused complications as she grew weaker. Where a normal human would have started to change into a vampire due to the volume of vampire blood in their system, she started to have an adverse reaction to it – we're not entirely sure why. Some people just don't react well to the transfer, she may have been too old, or it may have been because she's half-shifter. There's no way to tell.'

Quinn closed his eyes and bowed his head, letting out a shaky breath. He could have killed her.

Could have. She was still in there. 'And now?' He asked, looking back up.

The nurse sighed, and Quinn could tell from that one sound and the way the nurse braced himself that it wasn't good news. 'We're struggling to keep her stable. Since she arrived, she's crashed another two times. We've brought her back each time, but it's making healing her more complicated because the witches have to stop each time they shock her.'

Quinn took a breath, didn't feel it, grasped for another one. He closed his eyes tight, clawing for focus, half turning away from Ash and the others so they wouldn't see the panic in him. Stop it. 'Tell me. I need to know – I need to know exactly what's happening,' he said, voice faltering, but managing to look the nurse in the eye again.

The nurse sighed, but nodded. 'I was last updated six minutes ago, just before you arrived. We've got her on a human blood transfusion, to try and combat the bad reaction she's having to the vampire blood. But when I requested the update, she was in cardiac arrest again. She'd also started having grand mal seizures between arrests. It's been very difficult for the surgeons and witches to make progress between arrests and fits.'

There was a crushing force expanding outwards in his chest; compressing his heart, his lungs, everything. It was hard and rough and it was choking him. He wasn't entirely sure he'd made a sound until the nurse replied when he asked 'and what are her chances?'

His legs started to fail when the nurse reached out to touch his elbow. 'At this point, sir, all I can tell you is to hope for the best but prepare for the worst.'

He couldn't see. Breathing hurt and all he knew was he was stumbling back, the nurse's arm steady underneath his as he collapsed backwards onto one of the chairs. He was shaking his head blindly, like that would change anything. He could feel his hands trembling, even as vision returned in bursts. A smaller, lighter hand closed around his. He looked sideways, identified Amelia through the haze. She squeezed his hand tight, and he clutched it hard. Timmy was sitting on his father's knee, eyes huge and scared. Ash was standing a few feet away, awkward, nervous, but showing no signs of running like he would have done once.

The nurse was kneeling next to his chair, grasping his shoulder, watching him carefully. Probably wondering if he was going to collapse completely. Quinn looked at him, jaw tight, trying to push back the stinging burn in his eyes. 'She's getting though this. She _has_ to get through this.' He needed to know, was already groping for that elusive silver chord that had emerged in the cave. If he could help tether her to life, he would. He grabbed it, looped it around his arm, entwined himself in it, hauled on it. It wasn't loose, she was still here. There were times when it was alarmingly slack, but never loose, never disconnected.

He didn't even know if what he was doing would help at all, but he knew she was there. Less than in the cave, even, but he didn't care. He spoke to her, shouted, pleaded, an unceasing litany of desperation in the hopes she could hear him.

He lost all sense of time. All he knew, all he was, was this. A lifeline. A prayer.

Then something changed. Not at once, but slowly. The chord settled, tautened, strengthened. The pressure seemed to ease, and it was with all the light, all the joy in the world that he felt a soft, hazy brush of thought and a soft, barely-there _Quinn?_

Someone was clutching his elbow, and Quinn emerged, breathing, into the infirmary hallway. The nurse was half-turned away, looking towards the theatre doors.

Quinn broke the news for him. 'She's alive.' It was barely a gasp, but it swept across the group in an instant. Timmy scrambled across his parents' knees, thudding soundly against Quinn's chest, arms around his neck. Quinn enveloped the little body in a crushing hug that merely made Timmy laugh, while Quinn stared at the doors, heady with relief.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder, and he broke his trance to look up at Ash. The lazy cat was back, but his smile was a little too wide, a little too relieved. 'I'm going to go let Thierry know, alright? I'll be back in a minute.' With that he took off down the corridor, long legs carrying him off at the speed of a racehorse, leaving Quinn to his relief as the doors finally moved.

He was barely aware of standing; only Timmy's heels digging in above his hip bones and his arms tightening around his neck told him what he'd done.

A massive team of witches and surgeons spilled out of the doors, all slumped and stretching with exhaustion but pleased and chattering amongst themselves.

'Sir?' It was the last man out, still in scrubs – thankfully clean of blood. Human, Quinn saw. 'I'm Rashel's consultant surgeon. We're just taking her into recovery now to wake up from the anaesthesia. I'll be happy to answer any questions you have while we're there,' he said, holding a hand out to the side to indicate which way to go.

Quinn looked about the team – at least a dozen people – and couldn't make his voice work at first. Clearing it, he found sound again. 'Thank you. All of you; thank you for not giving up on her. Thank you for bringing her back.' There was a ripple of appreciation, then they were moving. Quinn turned with the consultant as he ushered him into the very next room. This one clearly connected to the operating theatre; there were a set of double doors leading to it.

In the closest bay, he saw her; feet first, covered by a blanket, then followed her legs up to her stomach. The blanket obscured it, but he could see the thickness of the bandages beneath her hospital gown. There was an IV in her arm; he could see the red blood in the tube connected to the canular. Finally her face, slack in sleep, cleaned of the blood he'd left on it. He sank into the plastic chair beside her bed, reaching over to take one of Rashel's hands. Scuffed, scratched, scabbed. Dirty, nails black with grime. He leant in to kiss it. It was warm, dry.

He finally drew a deep breath and looked up, found only two people in the room with him, cleaning up in the sink on the far wall.

'Sir, our anaesthetist will be remaining with us to monitor Rashel as she comes round,' the surgeon said. The anaesthetist waved with a soap-studded hand.

Quinn nodded. 'Where's Timmy and his parents?' He hadn't realised they weren't with him.

'Only one visitor allowed in recovery, and even that's unusual. They'll be able to come in and see her later when she's back on the ward. I left one of my surgeons with them to answer their questions,' the consultant responded. Quinn nodded in understanding and the two turned back to cleaning up and changing their scrubs.

He turned back to Rashel, hardly daring to believe she was here and safe, the rest of him aching with relief. He gently brushed her matted hair away from her face, dried blood flecking off onto the white pillow.

He'd nearly lost her.

It hit him hard then, so hard he was nearly sick, now she was here and warm and alive. His hand was shaking again as it traced meaningless patterns over her forehead, his jaw clenched and lips pressed tight as the fear, the relief washed over him. He had to close his eyes tight to stop the tears coming. It was stupid, irrational, she was _fine_ now, but it took a long moment before he risked taking a breath again, for fear of it being wet and choked and undoing him.

He gathered himself in time for the sounds of another chair being brought over, then the surgeon was sitting beside him, face open and friendly and exhausted.

'Mr. Quinn, my name is Colin Bruce,' he said, holding his hand out to shake. Quinn took it gratefully. 'Let me first say that while she's in for a long recovery, I think our people have worked a small miracle. I'm hoping there will be very little to no long-term damage from her ordeal. I expect her to make a full recovery.'

Quinn shut his eyes, breath rushing out of him in relief from something he hadn't even realised he was worried about. 'Thank you,' he said again, and he couldn't say it enough times for it to convey what he meant.

Mr. Bruce held up his hands cheerfully, like working for... Quinn checked his watch – a solid three hours on a patient everyone else would have given up on ages ago was no big deal. 'Couldn't let one of our dragon killers down, could we?' Then he sobered, nodding at Rashel. 'I'd understand if you had any questions. She wasn't in the best shape when she arrived, and you yourself were little better.'

Quinn sighed, nearly shaking his head. It wasn't that he had no questions, it was he had too many. He started with the first to occur to him. 'The nurse outside said she was having seizures. Do you know why? What happened?'

Mr. Bruce sat back in his chair, thinking. 'We're not entirely sure, but we think it may have been part of her adverse reaction to the Change. There's still so much we don't know about how the Change affects the human body as it occurs, never mind the body of someone half-human. However, I can speculate. We know the Change triggers changes in the brain – it awakens telepathy and other vampiric powers, to varying degrees. All I can assume is that the poor reaction to the Change also affected her brain, which triggered the seizures. Our witches have had a look at her, however, and seem confident that she has suffered no brain damage nor bleeds on the brain.'

Another wave of unknown, unexpected relief. He was only now beginning to realise all the things that could have gone wrong, how badly hurt she could have been. 'How long do you think she'll take to recover?'

Mr. Bruce tilted his hand, uncertain. 'She'll be very ill for the first few days as the vampire blood works its way out of her system. As for her physical recovery, it will likely be several weeks. She'll have to take things very easy for a while, no heavy lifting or anything of the sort for six weeks at least. She should, however, be up and about in a few days, if taking things slowly. She may require another transfusion after this one,' he said, nodding at the blood bag she was hooked up to. 'We've not seen a case quite like this before, you see, so it'll be a matter of wait and see.'

Quinn nodded and was about to speak again when Rashel sighed, frowned, and opened bleary eyes. Quinn immediately forgot whatever inconsequential question he'd had and turned to her, running his thumb over her hand.

She squinted at him, the theatre lights too bright for her almost vampire-sensitive eyes, finally made out his face then peered around the room. 'S' it over?' She asked; mouth sounding like it was full of cotton wool.

Quinn gave a small laugh of relief. 'Yeah, it is. We're back.'

Rashel nodded, closing her eyes again and settling back against her pillows. Then one eye cracked open again. 'Wha time's it?'

Quinn checked his watch. 'About quarter past seven in the morning. Go back to sleep.'

'Oh. 'Kay.' She subsided again, and within seconds had drifted off again.

Quinn scrubbed his face with his free hand, fighting the urge to laugh. He'd seen Rashel waking up from anaesthesia once before. He'd bet anything that she'd be awake again in five minutes, asking the exact same questions, ad nauseum until she came round fully. Then she wouldn't remember anything about it later. Quinn had joked that he'd film her if she ever had surgery again, because she hadn't believed his (admittedly exaggerated) impressions of her.

Well, he'd just have to settle for telling her again. He wasn't about to leave her side for a second until she was out of recovery, back on the ward and conscious.

An unobtrusive hand landed on his shoulder. Quinn looked up to find Mr. Bruce standing, half-turned to leave. 'I need to get back to my other patients, but I'll drop by the ward later to see how she's doing. You're welcome to stay with her until she's moved.'

Quinn was half tempted to say he'd like to see anyone try and stop him, but refrained. There had been no implication he would be moved, there was no need for the surge of defensiveness he felt. Instead he quelled his errant emotions and nodded. 'Thank you again.' He held out his hand and they shook. The surgeon gave him a knowing look.

'And once you're back on the ward, I'd advise you to get back in your own bed. I can see you're not fully recovered yourself. You'll be right next to each other, I assure you,' he said, before Quinn could make any move to object.

He sighed, and nodded. 'I understand.' That didn't mean he _would_. He got the feeling Mr. Bruce knew exactly what he was thinking, but the man simply smiled and took his leave.

Quinn settled in for a long wait, grateful that the anaesthetist didn't see the need for idle chatter as she checked Rashel over. As Quinn had predicted, Rashel woke up periodically for the next hour, each time asking if it was over and what time it was. Eventually he just answered her with 'five minutes after the last time you asked', at which she peered at his suspiciously, as if suspecting him of his blatant sarcasm, but didn't argue.

Once Rashel started to come around properly – only for a few seconds, but seeming merely half-asleep rather than drugged, and with increasing frequency – the anaesthetist pronounced her safe to be moved to the ward. Quinn had been leaning on Rashel's bed's barriers, half-asleep himself, when he heard the woman on the phone to the porters.

He shook himself awake as she came over, and she smiled to see him sitting up. 'They'll be a couple of minutes, then we can get you both back to the ward and you can have a proper sleep.'

Quinn shook his head. 'I'll sleep once I've talked to her. I'll be fine,' he added, when the woman frowned.

'If you say so,' she said, in a tone that screamed she didn't believe him.

Quinn smiled, but didn't reply. As long as she didn't force the issue, they wouldn't have a problem.

He spent the last few minutes looking at Rashel. Her colour was much better, though her features were still a little too pale and clear, too sharp. That would take a few days to go back to normal, as her body destroyed the vampire blood in her system. It was intriguing, he thought, to see what she would look like as a vampire. But that was all. A curiosity, nothing more, and not something he wanted to see every day unless there was no other choice. Rashel had clung onto her humanity for so long, even after discovering her heritage; he wouldn't want anything to rob her of it.


	4. Chapter 4

And here's the final part! Hope you guys have enjoyed it; I've had this idea in my head for months and loved writing it. Thanks to everyone who's read or reviewed this, it means the world to me. I should have the second chapter of _Time is All We Have_ done soon-ish, it's mostly done, so Hannah/Thierry fans keep your eyes open for that one.

Enjoy!

* * *

There was a surprise waiting for him when he walked onto the ward a few minutes later, the porter pushing Rashel's bed, his hand on the rail. There was a small crowd of people standing around outside Rashel's vacant bay. Timmy was in his father's arms, craning to get a look at Rashel while his mother gently chided him. Ash, looking smug despite his lazy slouch, and Lord Thierry, who should have looked out of place but didn't.

Quinn reluctantly let go of the bed to let the porter manoeuvre it into place without running over any of her visitors, pausing with the others in surprise. 'I didn't expect anyone,' he said honestly, glancing mostly at the Lord of the manor.

Thierry gave him a wan smile. 'I heard what had happened. I was planning on coming to see you anyway, but when Ash came to update me I accompanied him back down when we heard she was coming back to the ward.'

'And this little gremlin – sorry, Amelia, Rob – has been hanging about outside since you left,' Ash said, wincing when Timmy aimed a well-placed kick at his bicep. The child himself was busy peering over his father's shoulder at Rashel, anxious.

The porter ducked out of the bay with a smile, and there was a general move to find chairs and pull them up. Quinn sat by her head, slithering an arm between the barriers to hold her hand. Her eyelids were still, her breathing lightening. She'd be awake soon. Timmy was standing up on his dad's knee, balancing against the barriers and watching Rashel's face. Quinn spared a moment to admire how well Rob and Amelia put up with their vampire son using them as climbing frames before turning to Timmy. 'She's going to be alright. She's just going to need a lot of rest and to take it easy for a while,' he said. Timmy bit his lip, but nodded and sat on his dad's knee normally, a little placated.

'She's not going to like that,' Ash mused from his seat across from Quinn.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. 'Tough. She'll stay in that bed if I have to tie her to it.'

'I don't need to know what you two get up to behind closed doors, Quinn,' Ash said with a smirk, only for Timmy to burst out laughing as his parents belatedly tried to cover his ears. 'What? He's eighteen for God's sake,' Ash added when they glared rather pointedly at him and Quinn growled.

'Don't make me kick you out,' he threatened, though it didn't have much effect on the lamia, who leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head, smiling broadly.

'Hey, I dragged your half-dead carcass out of that cave and into the ambulance. You won't be kicking me anywhere,' Ash said smugly, tipping his chair onto its two back legs.

'That reminds me,' Quinn said, the question bursting into being even as he said it. 'What were you doing with the evac team?'

Ash shrugged. 'I was hanging around the radio post, heard the call come in. Got down to the depot before they left and sweet-talked my way onto the crew.'

Quinn nodded. He wasn't one for profuse gratitude, and Ash wasn't one who took it well. 'Thanks. It's a good job you did. You were the one who heard me, weren't you?'

Ash grinned, a moment of silent understanding passing between them. 'The one and only. I figured the ambulance crew better have a bodyguard in case anything happened. Instead I got to haul you about while they kept her going,' he said, jerking his head at Rashel.

'I'm in your debt,' Quinn said dryly, to general amusement. Then he sobered as another question occurred to him. He looked between Ash and Thierry. 'Has anyone told Keller and Galen yet?'

Ash shook his head. 'They headed out on assignment a couple of days after you. They're due back tomorrow – no point in distracting them now, if she's going to be alright.'

Quinn raised an eyebrow. 'Keller's going to skin someone when she finds out it's been kept from her.'

Thierry smiled. 'I'm hoping if she hears it from me, she will restrain herself.'

'Yeah, he's one of a handful of people she _won't_ go nuclear on,' Ash said with a wry smile.

There was a firm tug on Quinn's sleeve. Timmy.

'Rashel doesn't look right,' he said bluntly, looking up at him worriedly. 'She's not going to be… like us?' He asked, pointing vaguely at his mouth. Of all of them, he looked the least reassured despite having her there in front of him.

Quinn sighed, turning in his seat to face Timmy squarely. 'I don't think so. You know we found out she was half-shifter?'

Timmy nodded, small face serious.

'I don't think they can become vampires. She might be ill for a few days – it sounds like my blood made her have a reaction, like the nurse said. But when she pulls through this, she'll still be herself.'

'Just as well, really,' Ash chimed in, regarding Timmy with a warm, if mischievous look. 'Imagine a vampiric werepanther. She'd be taking out dragons solo.'

Timmy giggled, finally relaxing. A small spark of amusement even took Quinn by surprise.

A vampiric werepanther. He'd have to tell Rashel about that when she came round.

It was times like this that Ash reminded him he was a big brother. Sure, he'd been a pretty terrible one for a good chunk of his nineteen – twenty one if you went by outside time – years, but a big brother nonetheless. And he and Timmy had very similar senses of humour, now he thought of it. No wonder they got on so well. Without his sisters here, he seemed to be making up for lost time with Timmy instead.

Rashel took a deep breath, and everyone turned to look. She dragged her eyelids open, pulling a face at the light. Then she focused on the faces around her bed in belated bewilderment.

'Morning!' Ash chimed, sniggering when Rashel winced at the noise.

'Is that what it is?' Rashel groaned, voice hoarse, but she shuffled up the bed a little so she could see properly. She turned to look at Quinn, a soft, tired smile on her face. 'Hey.'

Something hard and painful inside him gave way, crumbling, leaving him free to breathe easy again. 'Hey. You really need to stop doing this, you know.'

Rashel chuckled, then grimaced again, one hand resting on her stomach. 'Oh, no laughing,' she echoed, this time with a weary huff. She groped around for the bed controls, only for Quinn to take them and ease her head up a little, so she could see, but not far enough to damage her tender midsection. She looked around, eyes heavy, but trying to smile for the group. She nodded at Thierry where he sat at the foot of her bed, the closest she could get to a bow. 'My lord,' she said, reaching for her professionalism. 'Have you been given our report, yet, or...?' she asked, looking between him and Quinn.

Quinn rolled his eyes. 'You've been awake thirty seconds, Rashel, give yourself a break.'

'But-'

'I'll give it now.' He turned to Thierry, who watched the proceedings with a small grin on his face, content to sit back and enjoy. He looked up attentively when Quinn faced him and said, 'Mission accomplished, bar Rashel getting shot twice on the way out and us both nearly dying in some God-forsaken cave. There, happy?' He added, turning back to his soulmate. She looked mulish.

'Quinn-'

'Is quite right,' Thierry interrupted, his quiet voice carrying easily. 'You can both be debriefed and give a full report once you've recovered. Until then, you're both excused from active duty, and I expect you both to use that time to rest and relax. _Both_ of you,' he added, with a stern look at Quinn. 'Your doctors told me you discharged yourself. Consider yourself re-admitted, on my authority.'

Quiet and gentle though Thierry was, Quinn didn't even consider arguing when he heard that tone. The Lord of the Night World had a way of speaking – Quinn didn't know if it was his accent or what – that made you remember he'd been alive since cave lions and woolly rhinos roamed the earth. That Wild Powers excluded, he was most likely the most powerful person alive now Maya was gone. He just didn't choose to use the Power he'd accumulated over the millennia. Quinn wondered if anything would ever push him to that. He just hoped he was miles away if that moment ever came.

That he could then give them a warm, genuine smile as he stood to leave only baffled Quinn more. Thierry was potentially the scariest vampire on the planet, but also the nicest. 'Now, I must take my leave. I plan to capitalise on the chance you gave us, and I won't let your suffering come to nothing. I'll see you both when you're reinstated.' He said goodbye to Ash, Timmy, and his parents individually before leaving the ward.

Amelia said what they were all thinking. 'It's kind of like having the President come check on you when you're sick, isn't it?'

That had them all laughing – or smiling, in Rashel's case, a protective hand resting over her stomach. Timmy stood up again, beaming, leaning over the barriers to speak to her properly. 'And you're OK now, right?' He demanded, happy but anxious, wanting reassurance from the source.

Rashel smiled. 'I don't know, am I?' She joked, looking at Quinn.

He smiled, relief warming him to see her awake and relaxed, not tense and gaunt with pain. 'You'll be fine. Just no sparring for a while, doctor's orders.'

'Yeah, I don't want to be taking any hits here for a while,' she admitted, gingerly rubbing her stomach. Then she looked back up at Timmy, her voice turning level and as reassuring as she could make it. 'But really, Timmy, I'm fine. Just tired and a bit queasy, actually.'

She jumped as a stack of kidney bowls landed on her knee. Ash's chair dropped back to all fours and Ash himself straightened from his stretch across to the next, empty bed. 'May as well save you asking,' he said cheerfully.

'Thanks, Ash,' Rashel said gloomily, nudging the dishes with distaste.

'Always happy to help my favourite auntie,' Ash simpered, ducking as a kidney bowl sailed through the space his face had just occupied.

'Don't make me puke,' Rashel quipped, while Ash huffed and pretended to be offended.

'Well, if you're just going to throw things at me,' he said, rising from his seat with his nose in the air while they all grinned at him, 'I'll leave you to rest up,' he said, dropping down smoothly into genuine warmth. He ruffled her hair – something he only dared do while she was laid up in bed – and nodded at Timmy. 'You coming, Gizmo?'

Rashel choked, then covered her face, shoulders shaking with carefully restrained laughter. ' _Gizmo_?' she asked, looking up as Amelia and Rob got to their feet.

Rob nodded as he put Timmy down, a resigned smile on his face. 'Ash introduced him to the _Gremlins_ movie while you were gone. It's stuck.'

'Fitting though-'

'Hey!'

' _Timmy!'_

Quinn snagged the boy's T-shirt, yanking him back off the bed rails he'd been climbing, Ash's comment going unheard. He was nearly holding the boy aloft as his little legs kicked, his hands tight on Quinn's wrist to support his own weight. He glared at Quinn even as his face turned red and Amelia swooped in to grab him. 'I'm just saying goodbye!' He snapped, teeth starting to show.

'So you thought you'd go climbing on her when she's just had major abdominal surgery?' Quinn asked through his teeth, voice taunt and cold.

He could see Timmy falter, even though he didn't lose his mutinous look. Quinn had to actively remind himself that Timmy hadn't meant it – hadn't meant to hurt her, and no harm was done – but he was finding it very hard not to simply grab him from his mother and shake him hard.

'Sorry,' Timmy muttered, not looking at any of them.

Rashel, who'd lain tense but quiet throughout, slowly relaxed as things settled down. 'It's OK. No harm done,' she said, unconsciously echoing Quinn's calming mantra, and held her arms out. 'Come here.'

' _Gently_ ,' Quinn stressed, meeting the little vampire's heated glower with ice as Timmy let his mother carefully lower him over the barriers to kneel beside Rashel.

He was very careful as he put his arms around her neck, but Rashel gave him a firm squeeze. 'Don't mind Quinn, he's had a very stressful couple of days,' she said, mussing his hair as Timmy pulled back. Timmy whined wordlessly, then knelt up and scrubbed both hands over Rashel's head, ignoring her loud protests. When he was done, Rashel giving him a baleful glare, her head resembled something you might pull out of a dry plughole. 'Thanks Timmy, I really needed that to help me feel better,' she deadpanned, lips twitching as Timmy started giggling again.

'Bye!' Timmy said as his mother lifted him over the barriers again.

'Bye sweetheart,' Amelia said, leaning over the rails to kiss Rashel's forehead and try to comb her hair neat with her fingers again. She gave up quickly, shaking her head hopelessly.

'Bye Rashel,' Rob echoed, leaning down to take Timmy's hand. 'Send someone to let us know when they're bringing round the free ice cream and jello, OK?'

Rashel snorted. 'I wish. Free bed baths and kidney bowls, more like,' she said, waving to the small family and Ash as she leaned back on her pillows.

It seemed oddly quiet once they were alone; they had the ward mostly to themselves. Rashel sighed, closing her eyes as her whole body sank into the mattress. Quinn squeezed her hand gently, running his thumb over her skin.

'Tired?'

'Mmn,' she hummed, green eyes sliding open to look at him. All the energy she'd mustered while the others were here was draining out of her, and Quinn could see her colour changing again as the nausea grew.

'The doctors said you'd be ill for a few days,' he said quietly, giving her a grim smile. 'Turns out giving enough vampire blood to nearly Change a half-shifter triggers a bad reaction.'

'Figures,' Rashel sighed, looking down at her bandages. She lifted her gown away from her chest to get a proper look now they were alone. 'Why're my ribs broken? Or were, I guess. Think they're fixed now. They just feel really tender when I breathe like last time.'

Quinn took a deep breath. 'You went into cardiac arrest.' Rashel went still. Quinn ploughed on, wanting to get all the bad news out at once. 'Several times. They had to start CPR in the ambulance.'

Rashel nodded distantly, dropping the neck of her gown but gently running her hand over her chest.

'There's more,' he said softly.

She looked at him, saw his face. He saw her brace herself. 'Is anything permanent?' Her eyes were steady, but he could feel the fear, the panic roiling beneath the calm. He gripped her hand tight, reaching out with his free hand to take her other one, shaking his head fast.

'No, nothing like that, no.' He growled at himself, his own stupidity. 'I shouldn't have worded it like that, making you worry-'

'Quinn, Quinn, it's fine. _Fine_. OK?' Rashel said, shaking his hands to get his attention. 'Stop blaming yourself. None of this is your fault. He got the jump on me, simple as that.'

'He shouldn't have been able to,' Quinn snarled, low, furious. 'If you hadn't gutted him-'

'You'd have killed him splinter by splinter, I know,' Rashel said, impatient. 'But I did, and he's dead, and I got shot. I'm alive. That's what matters. And if I say it's the leech's fault, it's his fault, OK? _I'm_ the one who got shot, remember?'

Quinn was still restless – Rashel got the impression he'd be pacing if she didn't have hold of him. 'I still should have done something, or been able to look after you better afterwards. I had no idea what I was doing, Rashel,' he said, clinging tight to her fingers, trying to get her to understand. He flung open their mental connection in a bid to make her see, so she'd know how helpless, how useless he'd been. How that couldn't happen again. 'I nearly killed you, several times over. I had no medical training, which was _stupid_ of me considering what we do, I nearly _bit_ you – I was so tempted, so desperate. I had to get myself _away_ from you before my control snapped. I nearly killed us both because I didn't know what I was doing. The gunshots weren't my fault, but everything after that was.'

Rashel let go of his hand, and he thought with a tearing pang that she'd realised, that she was pulling away even though it killed him – then she cradled his face, leaning close, fervent. ' _And you saved me_. No matter how you messed up, Quinn, you kept me alive. If you hadn't been there, I'd have died. I don't need anyone to tell me that. I would take this; take everything that happened a hundred times, over you not being there.' She gazed at him, eyes softening, fingers trailing down his cheek. 'Why are you so desperate to be guilty?'

He closed his eyes, turning into her touch. 'Because I can't let this happen again,' he said quietly, meeting her stare, every scrap of pain laid bare for her to see.

She studied him, shaking her head. She took a breath, paused, nodded. 'Alright,' she said, and he could hear the tactician there. 'So we do better. What went wrong? How do we stop it from happening again? _We_ , Quinn. You're not the only one who screwed up. I missed the gun too.'

He closed his eyes, shaking with something like relief. _How do you always know what I need?_ He hadn't meant to ask her, but she answered with a wry smile he sensed rather than saw.

 _I'm psychic._

Laughing, helpless, emotion stretched too thin from strain, Quinn leaned in to hug her as tight as he dared. God, to feel her arms wrapping around him, even as they were careful of the canular. To feel her heartbeat pounding against his arm, to feel her breath against his shoulder. So simple, so natural – and so, so precious. 'I'm going to take a first aid course. As soon as I'm discharged, I'm grabbing someone and making them teach me. And I'm taking a first aid kit with us whenever we go out from now on.' He was babbling, he was sure, anything to be better, to keep her safe.

Rashel smiled, pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 'Good plan.' Then he felt her tense, shudder, groan. 'But first, hold my hair, will you? I think I'm going to be sick.' She pulled back, reaching for one of the bowls Ash had tossed her earlier.

Still smiling, Quinn buzzed one of the nurses and stood, sweeping Rashel's hair back as she stared at the bowl on her knees, moaning miserably as her stomach clenched. He kissed the back of her head before her shoulders lurched with the first retches. She managed to choke out between heaves, 'this settles it. I'm _definitely_ not a vampi- _ugh_.'

Quinn held her hair in a neat knot, rubbing her back and shoulders as the nurse rushed in to give Rashel an anti-nausea injection, to stop her ripping her stitches when she gagged. He held her as the sickness abated, ran a cool cloth over her face when she leaned back, sweaty with exertion. He dragged his bed close enough to hold her hand while they slept, and drew tender, meaningless patterns on her skin to calm her and help her drift off.

It was only then, when Rashel had sank into a deep, natural sleep that Quinn finally allowed himself to rest. Now that she was safe, alive and warm next to him he could let the exhaustion of the past few days catch up to him. All the stress, all the pain of her injury and his own brush with death faded out as sleep rolled in to claim him. The last thing he felt before he sank into unconsciousness was her hand in his, the pulse in her fingers, and the knowledge that she would be there tomorrow.

That was all that mattered.


End file.
